Worst Week Ever



WORST WEEK EVER

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designed by Danielle Fine/ Definitons


A Dubious Romance if there ever was one.
A Fun, Crazy Roller Coaster ride 
full of disasters, misunderstandings, and overreactions.

Just because someone says they love you
 isn't a reason to love them back,
but Carrie Hanson loves to be needed and
 never has there been a needier man
 than her billionaire boss, Trent Lancaster.

He might be the worst bad boy
 you've ever been expected to love.
So I won't ask you to.
But you will love Carrie.
She's adorable,
4'6"
smart, 
determined, and 
has a great need to make things better.

This week, she's a walking disaster, 
but normally she's very good at solving problems.



-BOOK ONE- 
WORST WEEK EVER
Carrie’s billionaire boss stops being a jerk and is nice to her and God help her she falls in love with him. However, his new niceness falters often during their Worst Week Ever and at times this budding romance looks beyond hopeless.

WARNING: This is NOT your standard romance. This is a messy, funny, aggravating relationship in progress.



-BOOK TWO-
OH STUPID HEART
Carrie can see Trent is making concerted efforts to become a better man than he was raised and she commits to making this relationship with her billionaire boss work. But they often seem to be two different species of humans with nothing in common. While she realizes loving a man of her own species has to be easier, her heart has settled on Trent, so she’s determined to make it work.

WARNING: Against your better judgment, you may fall in love with Trent. If so you may want to stop the series after book 2.





-BOOK THREE-
COMING TO REASON 
Carries learns a hard truth: people do not fundamentally change.  Trent regresses to his old self, and Carrie starts to question if he has ever loved her. Finally, she realizes that just because a guy says he loves you doesn’t mean he’s right for you. But God it’s hard to see that when you’ve worked so hard to make the relationship work. You try to focus on the good moments, but now the joyous moments all seem to be in the past. Finally, she comes to reason and discovers a dear friend is a far better match for her. But just because she has found the man who suits her perfectly doesn’t mean she’s right for him. Further coming to reason is required for that to happen.


ADVICE: If you don’t believe the relationship between Trent and Carrie could ever work long term and that this fabulous young woman deserves better, then you will want to read Book 3.



-BOOK FOUR-
CLIMBING OUT OF HELL 
Trent's horrendous behavior in book 3 is finally explained. While he has no chance for getting Carrie back, he can thwart those who forced his hand. All he has to do is die. So he gives all his money to his butler Mars and his half-brother Sam and fakes his death. 

Now a relatively poor middle class guy with a new face, he follows Sam to a little town in Iowa. There Trent, now called Trevor becomes a man worth loving. You'll be so proud of him!

-BOOK FIVE-
THE HARDEST LOVE

Carrie, Mars and Sam has a target on them. The Mafia has long and vengeful memories.

Free Read

—The Friday Before—


Trent Lancaster wanted last month’s sales report. That’s all. As CEO and owner of Lancaster’s Chairs, getting financial information about his company should be his inalienable right.

First, he called head of Sales.

“We’re doing fine, Trent. Don’t worry about it,” Hal said.
A woman’s giggle followed the assurance, setting off Trent’s temper. “Where are you and who are you with?”

“I’m at Brittle Bottles, trying to pitch them our premium line of chairs. Only you’ve interrupted my pitch mid-stream to discuss a mythical sales report, so if the deal falls through, it’s on your shoulders. And you’ll owe me the commission I would’ve made if you’d just let me do my job.”

Before Trent could challenge him on several of his statements, not to mention the giggling woman, Hal hung up.

Outraged, Trent buzzed his assistant. “Carrie, get Hal back on the phone.”

A sharp angry voice replied from his speakerphone, “I’ve told you a billion times, my name isn’t Carrie. I’m Liza. L. I. Z. A. And I don’t know any Hal.”

Trent gripped his head and growled. “He’s the head of Sales. Get him on the phone now!”

“Last name?”

“What?”

“What. Is. His. Last. Name? The employee phone list is sorted by last name.”

“I don’t care about the phone list. Just do your job and get Hal on the phone.” He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Idiot girl!”

An angry voice spoke from his box. “I’m the idiot? I may not know this Hal’s last name, but then I’m just a temp. What’s your excuse?”

Before Trent could gather a reply, the red light on the direct line went out, indicating the girl had hung up on him. Seconds later, her angry voice came through the company intercom system.

“Attention please. If someone named Hal has the misfortune to work here, could you please visit the asshole in the corner office? He evidently cannot remember your last name.”

A moment later, even through his closed door, he heard the muted cheers and applause from his worthless employees in the main workroom.

 Trent stormed into the outer office, intending to yell at his mutinous employees. First, he planned to have a few words with Miss L. I. Z. A. only the little coward had run off. He entered the main room, to find his employees sitting on desks and laughing rather than working.

Upon sight of him, their cheeriness diminished. With further glares on his part, they scurried back to their desks and at least pretended to work. Satisfied they knew who was boss, he returned to his office.

Still lacking the sales report, he called the head of IT. “Where’s last month’s sales report.”

“Who’s this?” the irritated male voice replied.

“Trent Lancaster. Your boss.”

“Oh…You want what?”

“My Sales Report.”

Bob replied slowly as if talking to a moron. “Have you asked Sales?”

“Just send me the report, now!” Trent yelled and hung up the phone. He should’ve never let Carrie go. For the last two years, she’d been the buffer between him and his ungrateful, wretched employees. He’d forgotten how much he hated the whole sorry lot.

His phone rang. He waited for the temp to answer it but, after the tenth ring, realized she must still be MIA.

“What?” he lifted the receiver and demanded, annoyed he couldn’t even find a temp who would work.

“It’s in your email,” a gruff male voice snapped.

“What is?” Lancaster demanded.

The caller huffed and hung up.

Why did everyone keep hanging up on him? God, he missed Carrie. She filtered out these cretins and only put people through who actually wanted to talk to him.

Curious as to what resided in his email, he opened his laptop and pressed the ‘on’ button. And waited…

And waited.

God, this machine was as slow and worthless as his employees.

Nothing worked without Carrie. She’s single-handedly turned running his father’s business from an act of torture to an interesting challenge.

As he waited for his computer to show some spark of life, he pictured the heart and soul of his business, with her charming smile and beautiful green eyes. He desperately needed her positive ‘can do’ attitude back.

His laptop refused to come alive. He buzzed his temp. “I need a tech guy.”

The lack of a reply didn’t necessarily mean L.I.Z.A. hadn’t heard him. His employees were infamous for giving him the silent treatment. To determine if he had an attitude or absence problem, he stepped into the outer office only to find an unoccupied desk that used to hold Carrie.

Losing patience, he decided to try the non-working temp’s technique. While it hadn’t worked on Hal, maybe it would on a tech guy. He walked to an archaic microphone and pushed the ‘All Bulletin’ button. “This is Trent Lancaster. I need a tech guy up here now. That means right now.”

A fat old woman, wearing hideous cat-woman glasses, glared at him from her desk directly on the other side of the glass wall. God, how could Carrie bear to stare at the hag all day? Just a single glance caused a chill to run down his spine. He retreated to his office. “Please God, don’t make her my tech guy.”

Without knocking, the horrid woman stormed into his office. “My chair is crippling me.”

He had no clue how to even respond to such a stupid statement, so he decided to ignore her, in hopes she’d leave of her own volition.
His computer still refused to do its job, so he pushed the on button again. And again. Nothing.

Perhaps he should just throw the damn thing out the window and be done wi

The sound of a clearing throat caught his attention.

Apparently Miss Schnell hadn’t taken the hint—or had chosen to ignore it—and continued to loom belligerently in front of his desk. He tried another tactic. “I’m rather busy right now.”

She snorted.

Her blatant disrespect was the last straw. “If you and your chair don’t get along, I fail to see how it’s my problem. I am the CEO of Lancasters, not a god damn chair therapist.”

A young man, who looked a bit like Scooby-doo’s pal, entered his office. “You need tech support?”

“Yes.” He shoved his laptop across his desk. “Piece of crap refuses to turn on.”

Scooby hurried to his laptop and made several ‘hmmm’s before laughing. “Found the problem.” He held up a plug, then pushed it into the wall socket.

“It’s a lap top. Since when do lap tops require tethering to a socket?”

“Since the battery drained,” the young man said, and then flinched as if expecting to be hit.

He vaguely remembered Carrie telling him something about leaving his laptop plugged in when at the office. The kid might be right. He’d never had to worry about stupid stuff like battery recharging for the last two years. Carrie always made sure his laptop worked.

As Scooby headed to the door, Trent’s screen remained black. “Hold on! It’s still dead.”

The young man hurried to the laptop and pushed the ‘on’ button, and to Trent’s surprise, it came alive.
The kid attempted to leave again, but now Miss Schnell stood in the doorframe.
“I can’t help you, Mrs. Schnell,” Trent growled.

“It’s Miss, and as my employer, you’d better help me, or I’m going to sue for disability.”

God Almighty! Did his employees memorize the disability statutes? “How can I solve this?”

“I want a better chair…like the one your temp has. I’ve worked here for thirty years. But does that count for anything? Not at all! You buy these pretty girls the best of everything, but me? I’m sitting on crap that was crap when I arrived here thirty years ago.”

Trent just wanted to read his sales report. Why wouldn’t these people get the hell out of his office? “Take this up with Carrie, when she returns.”

“I’ll be crippled by then.”

“I don’t know how to solve your problem,” Trent stated in exasperation.

“The hell you don’t. You have a chair right there that no one’s using. You could solve this problem if you wanted to. You just don’t care about my back, but you will when I sue you— "

“If you want the god awful purple chair, take it. Just leave so I can get back to work.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, the old hag returned to the outer office and wheeled the ugly purple chair away.

Once she no longer blocked the door, Scooby-Doo-Boy scampered out. Trent would’ve liked it better had the fellow closed the door behind him, but at least Trent had his office to himself. God, he hated his employees.

Except for Carrie. She actually made his life better. Or had before he’d let her run off. Every day since had been pure misery. If he’d known how horrible life would be without her, he would’ve refused to let her go. He wished he had. He really couldn’t last much longer without her.

He stared at the symbols at the bottom of the screen, trying to find one that would give him his emails. Spotting the big blue ‘e’ he clicked on it. A ‘Bad Dress’ picture article of a starlet popped up. He cursed and almost closed out, but then spotted the word email.

However, when he selected the link instead of getting his emails, a blue box appeared asking for his password.

Frustrated, he wrote, None of your business

The machine responded with an annoying message.

Please verify your password.

Nothing about this seemed right, certainly not that bad dress picture. Convinced this was not his company email account, he searched again. By systematically opening every symbol on the bottom of his screen, he finally found another email account…that also wanted a password.

He wrote, I am in hell.
It answered, INVALID PASSWORD.
Then he tried, I need Carrie.
INVALID PASSWORD
Life is not worth living.
INVALID PASSWORD
Without Carrie
He stopped typing as the truth hit home.

His happiness and his business depended upon the near proximity of his beautiful four-foot-six Executive Assistant.

If she were here, she’d hand him a copy of the sales report then in a pleasant, cheery voice mention the key things he needed to see in the data.

He stepped away from his uncooperative laptop before he really did toss it. Why didn’t he get the tech’s name so he could call him on the phone. God, he felt like a fool communicating by the ancient intercom system his father had used, but he had no other way to get the kid back to help him.

Storming into the outer office, he spoke into the microphone. “Tech guy, come back. You didn’t finish your job.”

As he returned to his office, guilt chewed at his conscience. The kid had done his job, and Trent had actually appreciated him leaving at once. Much better than staying to bitch about a chair. However, he didn’t want the whole office to know just how crappy his day progressed. He’d be damned if he’d give them the satisfaction.

Scooby-doo arrived, out of breath. “I saw the system locked you out. I’ve cleared it and given you a temporary password.” He handed Trent a sticky note with gibberish written on it. Hlc8ws09

“Are you nuts? I can’t remember that! I am a busy executive, or would be if I could read my emails.”

Scooby-doo knelt in front of Trent’s laptop and typed a bit then turned the laptop toward Trent. “Type in whatever password you want. Then retype it in the block below.”

Trent wrote Carrie twice and hit enter. Angry red letters declared his password rejected.

“You screwed something up. It won’t take my password.”
Scooby chewed his bottom lip. “What did you type?”
Why would he tell Scooby doo his password? “I’m not telling you.”
“Did it have numbers in it?”

“No.”

“Well that’s why it rejected your password. It must have at least one number.”

“I own this company. I should not have to cater to a computer. The computer should cater to me.”

Scooby chewed his bottom lip some more.

Losing patience, Trent yelled, “Fix it!”

“Okay… but if I do, every hacker in the world, even the crappy ones, will be able to hack our system. Or, you could just change a letter, let’s say turn I into a one, and leave your system safe from five-year-old hackers.”

Trent did not want five-year-olds in his system. He typed in his new password and this time the system accepted it and gave him his email… Thousands of them, written over the last month that Carrie had been gone. Several marked ‘urgent.’

One titled FINAL NOTICE.

“Crap!” Scooby-doo said and made that one disappear.

“Hold on, if a bill hasn’t been paid, I need to know about it.”

“It’s a Trojan horse. If you had opened it, twenty viruses would’ve downloaded onto your computer. One of which steals all your email addresses so it can send the virus to everyone on your mailing list. Which means all the stupid people in our company who clicked on it the first seven times would do it again, and then my nightmare will never end.”

Trent didn’t understand the first half of his explanation, but he, better than anyone, understood nightmares that never end.

“Had a tough day too, huh?”

“More like a month. Any idea when Carrie’s coming back?”

Trent tensed. “Carrie? Why do you care?”

“Because nothing works in this place without her.”

“That’s the truth,” Trent muttered and refocused on the endless emails. “I told Bob Ott to send me a sales report. Can you find it?”

Scooby-doo shook his head.

“You can’t find it? Or you’re not even going to try?”

“Our system doesn’t generate any sales reports.” He then clicked on an email. “Oh…he sent you the only report the system generates.”

“What is it?”

Scooby cringed. “A one liner.”

Trent took over his laptop. A fancy banner declaring NET INCOME and then the number $(353,000) centered on the page. This looked nothing like the financial reports Carrie provided him.

“What the hell is this?”

“I didn’t make the report. But the story I heard is that you told Bob you were only interested in one thing, the bottom line.”

Trent opened his mouth to deny that, but before Carrie helped him understand how to read financial statements, he did quote his father a great deal. The man had been a big ‘bottom line’ fan.
He frowned as he noticed the brackets around the number. “Why do you have brackets around the number?”

The fellow chewed his lip again. “That means it’s a negative number.”

“We’re in the red?”

Scooby nodded and stood up. “I’ll let you get to work on that.”

Before Trent could question him further, the kid fled from the room.

He considered calling him back but saw another way to address the matter. Carrie. The most recent email came from Carrie. He opened it, intending to demand she come home at once and discover why brackets surrounded his number. Before Carrie, he’d been bleeding money every month, but for the last year and a half, they’d become profitable. Thus, this setback gave him a legitimate reason to call her home.

Without reading her email, he hit reply and typed…well hunted and pecked. He’d never learned how to type.

carriecomhomenowwearelosingmoeney.
Just before he sent it off, the odd subject line caught his attention.
RE: Typhoon Arriving-Ending Trip Early

Hope springing eternal, he returned to her email and read.
A Typhoon will hit Taiwan soon, so I am cutting the trip short. If not, I could be here several more weeks. All objectives achieved. She then gave the details of her flight.

He felt as if the heavens had opened and rays of Carrie shone down upon him. She’d never been ‘just an employee’ but now he realized how critical she’d become to his happiness. Carrie was the sun to his earth, rotating around him, warming his life.

Never would he let his sun wander off again.


—Sunday—

Chapter 1

Carrie Hanson stumbled off the plane with swollen, aching feet. She’d endured seventeen hours of turbulence, crying babies, and the crush of the middle seat in the back of the plane. Evidently, the man behind her didn’t appreciate her slow escape from the plane from hell. The moment she stepped from the plane onto the ramp, he shoved past her, sending her straight into a handsome flight attendant’s chest.
Righting herself, her face flushed with a mix of outrage and embarrassment.
“You all right, miss?” the attendant asked. A lock of blonde hair fell out of place and hung above his concerned baby blues.
“I’m fine. My feet just went to sleep on the flight.”
The guy knelt down, lifted her pants leg, and studied her ankles. “They look a little swollen. If that doesn’t clear up before you leave the airport, you should see a doctor. You could have DVT.”
Taking her arm, he escorted her down the chute to the main building. “That’s when blood clots form in the veins due to the lack of exercise. Were you in coach?”
She grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. This was the only flight available.”
He nodded in sympathy. “Everyone wanted out of Taiwan before the typhoon hit.”
As they entered the lobby, someone gripped her arm and pulled her away from the attendant. She looked up at Trent Lancaster, her out-of-sorts, but excessively good-looking, boss.
“Thank God! I feared you’d missed your flight and were now stuck in a hurricane.”
“Typhoon,” the attendant corrected him.
Trent glared at the young man then at Carrie, evidently holding her responsible for the fellow’s audacity to correct him. “Who’s this?”
She was tempted to declare the guy a souvenir from Taiwan, but changed her mind. Trent’s angry eyes indicated he had no sense of humor right now.
“I’m Carl Lite,” the attendant said to Carrie, holding out his hand.
She shook it then looked up at her six-foot boss looming over her like an angry bear, albeit one with perfectly cut hair and manicured nails. “This is Carl Lite. He’s the flight attendant who saved me from falling on my face when leaving the plane.” She refocused on Carl and gave him a playful curtsey. “Thank you for your rescue, kind sir.”
The young man grinned. “My pleasure. Don’t forget what I said about your ankles.”
“I…”
Trent had evidently grown tired of their chitchat and pulled her away.
“…won’t. Bye,” she called out as her ill-tempered boss dragged her down the busy corridor.
She focused on keeping up with the grump. “Has something happened?” He hadn’t been this out-of-sorts in quite awhile. In fact, for the six months before she’d headed to Taiwan, he’d been so pleasant she’d begun to like him. However, his lack of replies to her email updates during her month in Taiwan had worried her and his present bad behavior bordered on annoying.
He glared at her. “Ankles?”
“Pardon?”
“He was discussing your ankles!”
“And?” Exhaustion no doubt impaired her thinking, but honestly, he normally made more sense than this.
Trent stopped abruptly, his firm grip pulling her to a halt. A heavy body crashed into her back. A man cursed and rushed ahead.
She moved in front of her boss so his tall, broad-shouldered body could block the angry stream of traffic. “Has something happened at work? Did I do something wrong, or not do something? You seem pissed off at me, and I haven’t a clue as to why.” Being forthright always worked best with Trent. He respected that.
Pinching the bridge of his perfect nose, he closed his eyes. “Other than your absence from work, nothing’s wrong.”
My absence from work?
Anger began a slow burn in her chest. “You do realize I was in Taiwan improving their margins. That was work. Hard work…Miserable work, if I’m being honest. No one likes having their expenses cut, so I’ve just spent a month in a foreign country where I know no one, don’t speak the language, and had to deal with angry, uncooperative people. And now I come home to a snarly boss declaring my trip a vacation of some sort!”
He settled his giant hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant when you aren’t with me, nothing seems to go right.”
She couldn’t stay angry when he humbled himself like that. Doing so was contrary to his nature. Yet even here, in a mass of people, he’d stepped back when she called him out for crossing the line. Intending to reward his bravery, she attempted a smile, but a giant yawn burst out instead.
Turning her around, he hurried her to customs. As they entered the long queue for a customs gate, an oddity crept into her tired brain. “How did you happen to be at my gate?”
 “I didn’t happen to be at your gate. I waited for you, for several hours, in fact. You were late.”
He said this as if she had some say to when her plane took off, and as annoying as she found his attitude, she really wanted to stay on topic. “I meant how did you get to the gate? You can’t just wander in and wait for planes anymore.”
His brow furrowed. “So I discovered when Security refused me entrance. You have to have a ticket to enter.”
She waited for him to explain how he’d managed to get around the rule then realized for a man with more money than he knew what to do with, the solution was simple.
“You bought a ticket?”
He nodded once. “You once said I should visit Peru. So I bought a one-way, first class ticket.”
She grimaced at how much that must have cost. “A round trip coach would have been cheaper.”
His brow rose in what she called his ‘upper class disgust’ expression. “I would never fly coach.”
“But you didn’t plan to fly. You simply bought a loophole to get past the security gates. May I see your packet?”
Trent reached into the vest of his expensive suit, extracting a slender folder.
She studied the ticket, sucking in a breath when she got to the price tag. $5,131. She breathed out when she read further. “Thank God. It’s refundable.”
As Carrie handed him the packet, she noticed the pride in his eyes.
He thwacked the ticket on her head, playfully. “You see. Your cost-saving tirades have not been in vain. I specifically asked for refundable.”
She patted his muscular arm. “Good boy.” For once, he’d managed to do something without creating more problems than he solved.
When they approached the Customs’ officer together, she learned a few things about Customs’ agents: they don't like people arriving together at their station if they haven’t flown on the same flight and they are not amused when rich tycoons buy a ticket to skirt security regulations.
Instead of going home and getting some sleep, Carrie spent the next three hours sitting on a hard plastic chair while Trent’s lawyer negotiated their release.
Having no control over the matter but assured that Trent’s lawyer, Mr. Sedita, was more than capable of taking on the American government, Carrie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the hard concrete wall.
“Don’t do that. The wall is filthy,” Trent complained and moved her head to his warm, comparatively soft chest. Way too tired to object, she sighed with happiness at the change of pillows and fell into the oblivion of sleep.
***
Her forehead furrowed even in her sleep. Trent pressed his lips to the tiny creases, worried he’d caused her troubled dreams. He hadn’t meant to get them arrested. He’d just wanted to meet her at the gate. How that turned into a security crisis, he still had no idea. He’d followed their stupid rules and bought a damn ticket. Nowhere did it say you actually had to leave the country. If they require such then they should post a sign stating so.
She murmured something in her sleep that sounded like, “Margins need to be 30%.” He chuckled at his tenacious EA still arguing with the Taiwan managers even in her sleep. At least she didn’t dream about the playboy flight attendant.
Thank God, he’d arrived in time to save her. She had no experience with wolves in color-coordinated polyester. Poor thing was as na├»ve as a newborn kitten. Hell, to his knowledge, she hadn’t dated anyone since she’d come to work for him two years ago. The blond Adonis would’ve had her in his camper bed within a half-hour.
In the morning, Carrie would hate herself.
He slipped his arm around her and shifted his body a bit so she could rest more comfortably on his chest. Thank God, he finally had her back. He felt better already. He’d be even happier once David made these idiots realize saving a young lady from the seductive hands of a flight attendant did not in any way constitute an act of terrorism.
The door opened and David entered with a man wearing a rumpled, poorly cut suit. “Trent, this is Mr. Adams. He has personally signed your release but wishes to hear your assurance that you will never pull this stunt again.”
David’s glare warned him not to screw around with this request.
Trent looked up at the man. “I assure you I will never do this again.” In the future, if had to send Carrie anywhere, he would go with her.
The man studied him. His hard, angry eyes softened when they lit on Carrie. “Then you’re free to go.”
Trent stood and lifted Carrie into his arms. He now towered over the little man in the bad suit. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are full.”
A faint smile came to the man’s thin lips as he stepped back so Trent could get the hell out of there.
As they walked down the corridor, David fell in line with him. “Is she okay?”
“She’s just exhausted from working twenty hours a day, enduring a hellish flight in coach, and then having these idiots arrest her for terrorism.”
“Lower your voice,” David snapped. “The only reason I got you off with no charges, is because I convinced Mr. Adams you were besotted with the young lady and the month separation had impaired your normally good sense.”
Trent glared at him. “I am not besotted. Though, my life has been utter hell without her. She seems to be the only damn person worth a dime in my company. Nobody else knows their asshole from a golf hole.”
David’s eyebrows rose. “Should I go back and tell Mr. Adams I erred and you had no valid reasons for your misbehavior?”
“Not if you want to be paid.”
“Given you dragged me out here at midnight…trust me, I wish to be paid.”
“And so you shall be.” He smiled as the glass doors opened for him automatically. He liked automatic doors. They gave him the respect he deserved. He already had one installed in the lobby of his company, but maybe he’d have Carrie look into the cost of putting one in his private office.
 He walked directly to the space his limo had been six hours before. An old green Subaru in desperate need of a wash sat in its place. “Where the hell is my car?”
David pointed to the sign Temporary Parking, Violators will be towed. “I hope you had a driver.”
“I did. So where is he?”
Carrie muttered, “Call him.”
Startled, he looked down at her but she still slept peacefully. Damn if she didn’t have good advice even in her dreams. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reach his phone with her in his arms, and she’d definitely wake up if he put her down. “David, reach into my side pants pocket and pull out my phone.
“You could just…” David rolled his eyes and retrieved the phone. “Not besotted, right,” he muttered under his breath.
“Dial two and put it to my ear.”
He did as requested.
Trent’s driver answered on the first ring.
“Sam, where are you?”
“Getting gas. I’ve been circling so long the tank was almost empty. Where are you?”
“Waiting where you left me.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Make it five.” He looked at David “Snap it closed.”
His lawyer gently closed the phone.
Trent glared. Why couldn’t anyone follow his instructions? “I said snap it. I wished to communicate my displeasure.”
“Over what? Did he give up on you and go home?”
“No, he went for gas.”
The man shook his head. “Would you rather have him wait until you were in the car before taking you to some creepy station in Newark? Or better yet, run out of gas on your way home?”
“Enough. You’re starting to sound like Carrie. I know I’m being unreasonable. I’ve had a terrible month and my fountain of reasonableness is tapped out.”
David leaned over and studied Carrie, then placed his fingertips on her neck.
“What are you doing?” Trent snapped. God, did the entire male race need to touch his employee?
“Checking to see if she has a pulse. I’m shocked anyone could sleep through this.”
“Does she?” he asked in a panic. What if she got DVT while crammed in coach?
His lawyer shook his head slowly and laughed. “She’s alive.”
“Then why did you just shake your head?”
“Because you keep saying you aren’t besotted.”
“Damn it, David. You gave me a heart attack just because you’re a closet romantic? I’m telling you there’s nothing going on between us. She’s my employee, nothing more.” God only knows what would happen if the matrons of society thought he was dumpster diving. They’d make his life utter hell and rip poor Carrie to shreds.
David studied him for a long moment. “Are you saying you’ve never…?”
“No, never. Not even a kiss.”
 “Any reason why not? I mean she’s…”
Trent’s glare silenced him.
Moments later a limo weaved through the crowded lanes of traffic, causing a great deal of ill will among the other drivers, which they expressed in a cacophony of horn blasts, shaking fists, and flying birds. Sam brought the car to a screeching halt, triple parking in the road.
Trent slipped into the back seat, still holding Carrie in his arms. He jostled her a bit, but she just muttered something about cash flow and resumed her sleep. Trent held his hand up to David in a gesture of goodbye and thanks right before his driver zoomed them away.
Closing his eyes, Trent enjoyed the pleasure of Carrie’s body pressed against his.
His eyes popped open in horror. Oh God, David’s right. I am besotted.
What the hell was he thinking?
Statistically, his relationships never lasted more than a month and they always ended badly. A billionaire who couldn’t make a relationship last more than a month. How horrible did he have to be to chase off women who had a billion reasons to stick it out?
 If he became involved with his most valuable employee, in a month, she’d dump him and quit. Then his business would collapse into chaos and he’d finally prove his father right. The old man constantly claimed Trent was a worthless human being and the world’s worst businessman.
And then Carrie arrived and single handedly saved his company. She never gave up. If one solution failed, she’d find another way to resolve the problem.

He smiled at his sleeping EA. If anyone could make him into a better man, it would be her. Carrie could solve any problem, had the patience of a saint, and the determination of a pitbull. Best of all, she loved a challenge.




14 comments:

  1. I love your cover! Cute and perky. And your series sounds like a different take on romance. I like that in a series. :)

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    1. Thank Jenna. It's more like the torturous path of reality. When desperate to be loved, we will try so hard to make lemonade out of what would otherwise be a lemon. Beyond Trent's Lemon factor, they are so incredibly different that in some ways they are like different species. Other than Lancaster Chairs what do they have in common? All this would make for roller coaster ride, but add to it the worst week of their lives and grab a seat belt and hold on for an amusing and outrageous ride.

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  2. Woohoo! Congratulations, Liza! your cover looks good, and the book sounds like it's going to be fun! Can't wait to read it!

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    1. Thanks Nikki,
      That's the plan-to amuse my readers as my adorable and very likable character Carrie goes through hell and back...for two and half books...before finally finding true love.

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  3. Cute cover. Congrats on your new series!

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  4. Thanks Stacy. I hope readers will enjoy a different take on a romance. One that will make your own romantic journey seem like a cake walk in comparison.

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  5. Sorry I'm late. No remarks about it getting to be a habit, please. I love your cover and the sound of your series. I generally don't read contemporaries (make that never, with the exception of Saving Casey), but I'll read your's. Tweeted.

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    1. It's the most fun you'll ever have during a Worst Week Ever.

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  6. Cute concept, Liza! The cover grabs my attention, especially with the dangling handcuff!

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  7. Well she was arrested or almost arrested 5 times in this one week. She earned those handcuffs. Danielle Fine create this cover and she did a superb job.

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  8. Love that cover!! Congrats, Liza! Happy for you!!! :D

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  9. Sure- you had to give me such a sweet taste. Now I am not going to get the housework done. I am going to fire up the kindle.

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